


Don’t Let Me Die With My Soul in the Air

by DisasterLesbean



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Jewish Hermione Granger, Spy Narcissa, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 01:22:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19879264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisasterLesbean/pseuds/DisasterLesbean
Summary: Their relationship was built in soft unstable soil but with enough care, it grew. It flourished and together they bloomed. They grew strong and entwined. Their petals resplendent and their love real and alive.





	Don’t Let Me Die With My Soul in the Air

It begins with betrayal.

Hermione’s nose is going numb from the cold dawn air. The morning fog is thick enough that it obscures her surroundings. She can see around her but only for a few meters. She can see the dirt descend into the water but she can’t see the lake itself. She can hear the ducks but she can’t see them. The old wooden bench groans beneath her when she shifts. 

She checks the time and sighs. She shouldn’t have bothered coming here, she definitely shouldn’t have stuck her neck out for Narcissa Malfoy of all people.

A weight settles on the bench next to her. With it comes a telling scent. It’s heady and thick, it overcomes Hermione like a wave. The perfumed air infiltrates her senses, it floods her mouth and lies on her tongue. It’s alchemical but not displeasingly so. It reminds her of when they made Amortentia in potions class. Not exactly the potion itself but the before, the culmination of floral and bitter roots, the mimicry of love.

“Miss Granger.” Hermione’s heart falters, fear nearly freezing it in place.

“Madam Malfoy.” She doesn’t turn to face Madam Malfoy. She knows Madam Malfoy isn’t facing her either. 

“There will be a strike on Kitai’s store at midnight. Tell the Order to clear out anything sensitive before then.” Madam Malfoy moves to stand but Hermione stops her. She reaches out and grabs Madam Malfoy’s wrist, halting her escape. Her wand tucks under Hermione’s chin with unparalleled speed.

“Wait. I need to know why you’re doing this.” Hermione finally sees Madam Malfoy since they sat down. 

She looks tired and worn down. Her shoulders sag as if she’s been carrying the world and her eyes are sunken. There are obvious attempts made to hide her exhaustion. Her hair is immaculate and make up paints the face Madam Malfoy needs to portray. It doesn’t hide her worn state but it’s likely her last line of defense, the only thing she can still control. 

Her eyes are the blazing blue of a freshly lit stovetop. With the wood of Madam Malfoy’s wand pressed into her throat, she only hopes the kettle doesn’t go off. 

She especially hopes the boys can keep a lid on it. She knows they’re out there some where even if she told them a dozen times not to come. She hopes for once they have patience, they let her try. 

“You don’t need to know anything.” Madam Malfoy’s words are barely more than a hiss but Hermione stands her ground. 

“I do. You could be setting up a trap. Why should I believe anything you say? What do you want for your information?” The wand presses deeper as Madam Malfoy tightens her fingers. Her knuckles are going white as her lips thin out in despondency. Hermione can feel Madam Malfoy’s pulse tapping away below her fingers. It’s like a stampede of centaurs. 

“I don’t want to lose my son to a foolish war.” Hermione can’t read Madam Malfoy. She doesn’t know her well enough and her face is unreadable, her mask is not as cracked as Hermione had thought. “In exchange for what will be vital information, I want immunity for Draco and myself.” The cost isn’t a surprise. Hermione had expected it and the Order also warned her. They also gave her permission to agree to it.

“Not Lucius?”

“No.” Anger bleeds into Madam Malfoy’s tone so Hermione doesn’t press her.

“If your information comes through, you have a deal.” Hermione assures her. Madam Malfoy puts her wand away and cautiously takes out a ring. 

“This is a Black heirloom. Keep it on at all times. It will heat up to alert you of a message. Simply remove it to see the message and when you put it back on the message will clear.” Madam Malfoy slides the ring onto her finger. She hesitates a moment and Hermione wonders if she has more to say. In the end, she stands to leave. 

She stands to leave as well but hesitates, curiosity nipping at her heels. “Madam Malfoy?” The woman stops before she’s too far. Her back is pointed to Hermione, her figure wreathed in fog. “Why did you specifically request to meet with me?” Hermione has wondered just as much as the others.

The Order had gotten a hold of them when the discrete coded letter came in. Madam Malfoy wanted to meet but only with Hermione. The Order was set to send a group to ambush Madam Malfoy but something seemed off to Hermione. She knew she had to meet Madam Malfoy and now, armed with inside knowledge, she is right. 

It doesn’t mean she wasn’t afraid.

None of them saw Madam Malfoy as a threat. They feared there would be Death Eaters or even Voldemort himself waiting for her, no one feared Madam Malfoy herself. Hermione did. She’s only caught glimpses of the women throughout her time at Hogwarts but it was enough. She knows danger when she sees it. Her sore throat from the wand only further proves her right. 

“Draco spoke highly of you.”

“Draco hates me.”

“Exactly.”

The raid happens at midnight. Madam Malfoy’s warning saved half a dozen lives. Kitai had been hiding wounded fighters in his basement for weeks. 

After that day, Madam Malfoy becomes the Order’s spy. Sometimes it feels more like she’s Hermione’s spy. The Order is no help, they don’t offer her much support. It’s not entirely their fault, Madam Malfoy still will only interact with her. 

The ring works as promised. It noticeably heats up and when Hermione slides the ring to her knuckle, a message is printed on the skin of her finger. She starts wearing it on a chain so she doesn’t lose it. She isn’t sure exactly how it works so she’s sure to slide it on her finger as soon as it starts warming. It would be a mess if she missed the window for the message.

They always meet at the park, it’s always brief, and Madam Malfoy always gives good information. She saves numerous lives and overall improves their side of the war. The encounters are the same for so long it’s as if they’re following a script. 

Until one day Madam Malfoy decides to change things.

She’s so out of it that it takes her a few moments to register the soft heat pressing into her hand. She looks down at the fresh stuffed roll and isn’t really sure what’s happening.

“Well don’t just gawk at it.” Madam Malfoy admonishes her. Her words are crisp and unfriendly but the roll remains outstretched. Hermione’s grimy fingers wrap around it slowly, afraid this is a trick.

“Why?” Her face heats up at how rude it comes across. “I mean, thank you.” Madam Malfoy may use sharp words but there’s no disguising this kindness. 

“You look like a starved street-rat.” Madam Malfoy scowls at her appearance. 

“I’m too busy avoiding your husband to take a bath.” She really didn’t want to snap but her control is shaky these days and Madam Malfoy has the social awareness of a rock. That’s unfair to rocks. Madam Malfoy isn’t unaware of her words, she knows exactly what she’s saying and how it’ll come across. She just thinks she’s better, she thinks she can belittle Hermione and get away with it. She’s sharp and her actions are intentional, like scissors. Guess that makes her the paper.

“You’re not doing a very good job at it apparently.” Madam Malfoy’s fingers trace along a healing gash on her forehead. Hermione is always thrown by people who are so at ease with physical contact.

“Better than most.” 

“Eat.” Madam Malfoy squeezes Hermione’s hand before retracting it. Hermione bites into the roll and feels her spirits lift. She hasn’t had something this good in a while. Her body feels heavy and she wants nothing more than to sleep. They’ve met at night this time and there’s no fog. She can see the starlight dancing across the lake’s surface. “When’s the last time you slept?” 

“I sleep.” She knows it sounds overly defensive and expects Madam Malfoy’s damned superior smirk. That’s not quite the look she gets. Madam Malfoy looks vaguely worried and it unsettles Hermione more than the curse she took to her leg a few days back. “I have to apparate here. It takes a while.” She can’t yet clear countries with ease. She usually has to take several stops before getting to their lake. 

“You’ve been apparting long distances to get here?” 

“How else would I? It’s just a lot on top of the rest of travel I’ve been doing.” Madam Malfoy looks determined as she stands to leave. 

“I’ll have something for you next time we meet.” 

That something turns out to be a portkey. It makes their meeting easier on Hermione. It also makes their interactions easier. That meeting had shifted something between them. They were no longer just informant and handler. 

They aren’t friends but they aren’t enemies. They’ve a tenuous relationship. It comes as a surprise how much Madam Malfoy does for her. The information could be construed as just being for the Order, or more aptly Madam Malfoy’s own benefit. The food that she always presses into her hands, the portkey, the non hostile company, the gentle touches; these are all for Hermione’s benefit. Something that makes Hermione slowly look forward to their meetings.

It’s a break in her everyday life. Considering the nature of her everyday life, meetings with Madam Malfoy are a blessing. 

“What’s wrong?” The worry is clear on Madam Malfoy’s face and it makes Hermione wonder how clear her own distress is. She sits in the slope leading to the water rather than the bench. She needs to feel the earth, the damp dirt and patchy grass.

“Ron left us.” 

Madam Malfoy looks like she is going to insult Ron, bitter words on the tip of her tongue, before she changes course. “You still have Harry.” It is oddly exactly what she needed to hear. She’s not alone, no matter what the dark thoughts plaguing her mind are telling her. She has Harry. She even has these brief moments with Madam Malfoy.

“Can I ask you something?” 

“I suppose.”

“Why did you take their side? Why are you only now switching?”

Madam Malfoy purses her lips and looks away from her. Hermione can see along her jawline, the curve of her neck, the dip of her throat. She’s beautiful, soft flesh is bared to the wind, her posture is refined and posh. Hermione wonders how the locket would look around her throat, she hopes she never finds out.

“I believe in traditionalism and I do think we are in a dire crisis. We’re losing culture and what makes us witches and wizards. I will not pretend I wasn’t interested at first. The offer to restore Black and Malfoy’s magnificence in this world? How could I not be interested?”

“But?”

“But, I never signed up to blindly follow a tyrant. He swears to restore families but how many have been obliterated due to his war? How much have we lost? There is nothing more important to me than family, Miss Granger. Now I’m expected to offer my only son up as tribute. As if he is no more than a pig on their table.” Madam Black looks into her eyes with such an intensity that Hermione has to swallow. “They’re eager to indulge themselves, to feast on my son. I cannot allow that.” 

She covers Madam Malfoy’s hand with her own. She squeezes it and Madam Malfoy turns her own, loosely interlocking their fingers. “Lucius allows it?”

“Lucius would put the apple in Draco’s mouth himself.” 

It makes sense, with the sheer venom of Madam Malfoy’s words, that she does not wish to protect Lucius. Hermione completely understands. Lucius would sacrifice his own son to further himself in Voldemort’s eyes. He would destroy that which matters most to Madam Malfoy.

“Should I call you Madam Black? I fear you won’t have a husband for much longer.” She feels her blood quicken. She could imagine it, the next time she sees Lucius she could target him. How easy it would be. She knows she is stronger than him, better than him. She could best him. She could rip the life he’s so eager to steal from Draco right from him. 

She knows so many ways to kill now. The way a body can twist and shred, how lifelessly they fall. She could break the man that calls himself a father and husband. It wouldn’t be an issue, it’d be a pleasure. 

“Darling girl, don’t lose yourself to this war.” Madam Black’s hand traces along her jaw before she tenderly cups her cheek.

She tries stopping her thoughts, aware that the dark turn is not her own, but finds herself drowning in them. It’s killing her piece by piece. “How could I lose myself when we’ve a standing date?” Madam Black’s lips quirk. Hermione has never heard Madam Black laugh but she thinks it would be like this. 

Receiving that smile, quirked with amusement, becomes the highlight of Hermione’s days. Watching Madam Black’s shoulders ease the longer they’re together gives Hermione a sense of happiness. These days, Madam Black’s body doesn’t look like a taut wire about to snap. 

“You don’t talk to your sister?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Madam Black’s body language closes off, her voice a beacon of anger. “You know why. Don’t try and bait me.”

“I’m not attempting to bait you. I’d hate to catch whatever you’re giving.” Madam Black sneers and turns away from her, shutting the conversation down. Hermione has to take a deep breath to center herself and speak without anger. “I ask because you’re sitting here talking to me. You’re on our side.”

“It’s not just the matter of his status.”

“Not just but partly?”

“I’m not perfect, Miss Granger. I will not pretend I didn’t fall into the same bigotries as the rest of my social circle.”

“Is that different now?”

Madam Black gives her an indecipherable look and her hostility fades. “Completely.”

“So why not reach out to her?”

“Other than the fact she would likely not accept, I’m still angry. She chose a man over her family.”

It strikes Hermione just how telling the statement is. It parallels Madam Black’s own life. Her choice between a man and her family a current issue. Lucius is part of her family too, in some regard. She still chooses to preserve her son and family line instead of her husband. Her ranking of his worth is incredibly low. 

It makes sense that someone who holds family as such a priority could hardly forgive someone who treats it as lowly.

“That’s something you two should talk about.”

“I can’t get over her transgression.”

“You must, she’s your family. I know you love her, it’s practically fighting its way out of you. You have to forgive her to move on.”

Madam Black’s eye track a squirrel climbing a tree. She’s gathering her thoughts and Hermione bites her tongue to not push harder. “I suppose I have to survive this war then.” Madam Black muses.

“You will.”

“So certain. Did Sybill tell you I would?” Hermione glares at Madam Black. She knows exactly how much she despises Professor Trelawney and divination in general. 

“You’re a survivor.”

“I’m not sure that’s a compliment coming from you.” 

“It is.” She knows Madam Black will live. She’s capable, adaptable, and has a streak of self-preservation that will guarantee her survival. Hermione’s glad for it. She’s not sure a world without Madam Black makes sense anymore. “Besides, I won’t let you die.”

“How idiotically heroic.” The fond tone causes Hermione to flush.

She needs to make sure Madam Black will survive the war. The care and affection comes unbidden and Hermione is sure to push it back away.

The next time she sees Madam Black, she wishes with all her heart, it was at their lake. She’s never wanted nor desired something so strongly in her life.

Madam Black locks eyes with her and Hermione sees it click. Her eyes turn like a gear, each click of recognition widening her eyes. Bellatrix sends Harry and Ron away and she sees horror paste itself across Madam Black’s expression.

She learns why.

There is no fronting here. There is no room for the pride she wields against Madam Black’s verbal assaults. The screams tear through her throat raw and real because there’s no way she can pretend she isn’t suffering. Every taunt of Bellatrix’s is proven true moments later with a flick of her wrist. 

She’s swallowed in a fire of pain.

Madam Black does not look away. Lucius hides in a corner, not wanting to attract Bellatrix’s attention. Draco looks pale and near sickly as he avoids looking at the scene. Madam Black unflinchingly watches. She refuses to look away from Hermione’s eyes, she holds their gaze with an unbending strength.

It’s because of everyone else’s diverged attention she is able to look back.

Madam Black mirrors Hermione’s vulnerability. Hermione’s honest truths are being torn out of her and she thinks it’s the same for Madam Black. 

When she isn’t actively under the cruciatus, she meets Madam Black’s eyes once more. Every time she gleans something new. It offers itself as a way to distract Hermione from the pain.

Madam Black’s cheeks are hollow with horror, her lips thinned with anger, her eyes a slow watery dance much like their lake. It’s revealing. The care in her winces, the worry in her clenched fist. She looks as if she is being tortured as well. 

“Tell me!”

Another cruciatus. 

“Where did you get it!”

Another.

Madam Black’s eyes are the only thing keeping her from completely breaking down. They’re grounding her to this world. She feels Madam Black’s embrace through their connection. She sees her strength, her support, her care. Hermione just keeps screaming and trusts Madam Black to give her back her breath.

“What’s this?” Bellatrix’s finger slip under the chain and Hermione only has a moment to feel the dread. Madam Black’s face twitches, morphing into barely restrained terror. Hermione wonders if the flood of guilt will be the last thing she sees.

It gets worse. Somehow, it gets worse. Bellatrix leaves the curse on for longer, gives her little to no time to recover in between, certainly not enough to look at Madam Black.

“Filthy mudblood wearing our property! How’d you get it?” Hermione couldn’t answer even if she wanted to. Bellatrix leaves her no time, no breath, no words.

She thinks this is what madness feels like. 

She wonders if this is how the Longbottoms felt. 

Without her connection to Madam Black, she isn’t grounded. She feels herself distantly, like her soul is ripped out of her body. She can’t think. It’s too hard. Fragmented bits stringing themselves together in nonsense. Even Bellatrix demands become muffled jumbles. She only hears parts. 

“Where?’

“Crucio!”

“Must have stolen it.”

“Thief!”

“Cissy!”

“Narcissa!”

_Narcissa._

It’s stuck in the loop. The only thing she can hear and think. Narcissa. 

She doesn’t know when she’s under it and when she’s not. She always feels like she’s on fire. 

She feels something carve itself across her skin.

She hears a crash. More gargled words. Feels the sharp cuts along her body. 

A pop. 

Words, crying. 

She hears water. It’s the first thing that offers her any comfort. 

Shuffling, crying, a bed. 

She lets herself blessedly shut down.

_“You’re doing it wrong.”_

_“You can do better?”_

_“Of course.”_

_“How? How did you do that on your first try?”_

_“Skipping stones is hardly difficult, Miss Granger. Let me show you.”_

_“I think I should leave this out of my report. They’d call me crazy.”_

_“Hermione.”_

_“What?”_

_“Hermione?”_

“Hermione?” 

She isn’t burning.

“Hermione, you’re okay.” 

She still hurts. She aches and her skin feels thin. It’s itchy too. She isn’t sure why it’s itchy when it’s thin, it seems dangerous. Too much scratching and she’ll wear away. A thought on the wind, lost forever. 

“You’re okay. You’re safe.”

It’s all messy, threads that don’t make sense. She’s trying to build a puzzle from the inside out. It hurts.

“I’m here.”

It smells nice. She can’t place it but it’s nice. It’s safe. 

It reminds her of a lake. 

It reminds her of a woman.

“Narcissa?” It comes out cracked and broken, near a whisper.

“I’m here.” 

“Narcissa.” The sob breaks free. She’s glad it’s Narcissa. Harry and Ron couldn’t handle this, she’d have to be strong for them. She doesn’t have it in her to be strong right now. Narcissa watched it happen, she stood and lent her strength to Hermione. 

Her body feels deadened. Numb to the world. She feels the pressure of Narcissa’s touches but she can’t feel them. They’re but empty gestures to a fading host.

“You’re here.” She feels the pull of sleep and she’s scared. She’s scared Narcissa won’t be here when she wakes up.

“Rest. I’ll still be here.”

“You can’t promise that.” It’s surprising that she’s here at all. Hermione isn’t sure how she managed but it’s very likely she can’t be here long. Voldemort waits on no one.

“Watch me.” 

_Hands around her throat, liquid fire coursing through her veins, demands that can’t be met. Blue eyes that harbor her._

Her vision is blurry when she opens her eyes. She makes out a window, sunlight beaming in, a body. She lifts her head and looks at the person she’s been resting against. Narcissa is asleep beside her on the bed. 

She lets herself fall back into Narcissa’s embrace. She can’t shake the sense of safety that she feels towards Narcissa now. She isn’t sure that’s a good thing, she doesn’t know much about recovery, but she decides it doesn’t matter. It brings her some semblance of peace. 

“Hermione?” Narcissa’s sleep ridden voice asks.

“Keep sleeping, it’s fine.” Hermione was likely just going to fall back to sleep anyways. “Thank you for staying.” Narcissa carefully kisses the top of her head.

She heals quick with Narcissa’s care. Narcissa has to spend time at the manor but she gets away more than Hermione thought possible. Every moment with Narcissa becomes precious to Hermione. She’s glad she seeks her out.

When everything starts pulling together, they don’t see much of each other. 

There’s a war to win. 

They do win. Against all odds, they win. They all pull through, they do as they’re supposed to. Narcissa’s information helped protect many of their people who swayed the last battle.

In a day, the war she’s been fighting throughout her childhood is over. 

It’s unreal. 

Narcissa and her don’t stop seeing each other with the end of the war. Their relationship moved beyond professional, beyond information. Now they can meet in public or at Black manor. They’re free to spend more time together. Draco eyes her suspiciously but doesn’t say anything, seemingly glad his mother has someone she can talk to. 

“I’m just saying it’s odd.” Ron looks to Harry for support.

“If it makes Hermione happy then we should be happy for her.” Harry easily replies.

“She’s shagging your boyfriend’s mum! Why does everyone act like I’m crazy?” 

Hermione chokes on her drink. “We’re not shagging!”

Harry pats her on the back trying to help her. She vaguely feels it. Feeling never really did return. She assumes it’s nerve damage of some kind. She can feel pressure but lost sensation. It’s a constant reminder. 

“It’s fine, none of us judge you. You two have something special.” Harry smiles kindly at her. She smiles back at him even though they’re absolutely not together. She loves Harry so much, having grown up with him sometimes she forgets. She is so used to him she doesn’t realize how much he matters. “Are you going to make Draco call you mom?” Harry’s smile turns into a grin and she pushes at his shoulder.

“We’re not together!” The chutzpah of these two. 

“Oh, Merlin!” Ron wipes a hand over his face, drink sloshing dangerously. “I thought you just didn’t return my feelings and that’s why you ignored me.” Her eyes widen at that admission. “You’re not a prick you’re oblivious.”

“Even if I didn’t return your feelings Ronald Weasley it wouldn’t make me a prick.” She cuts him an angry look.

“Don’t full name me, ‘Mione. I just meant you literally had no clue. Just like now.”

“Narcissa isn’t exactly a teenage boy crushing on me.”

“If anyone is the teenage boy it’s you.” She shoves Harry harder this time but he doesn’t stop laughing at her. 

Narcissa throws a celebratory ball and when she goes as Narcissa’s guest, they laugh all over again. She’s determined to prove Harry and Ron wrong. 

In the end, she winds up the idiot.

Narcissa descends the staircase like the queen of her kingdom. Everyone stops talking and watches her entrance. It is one of the most dramatic and grand entrances Hermione has ever seen. She should find it ridiculous but she can barely stand under the weight of Narcissa’s attention. She looks like a dream. 

She’s the most stunning person in the room. Her shoulders are straight and her expression uninterested, as if even her own party is below her notice. She’s wrapped in black cloth, a dress that clings to her torso and flows like water around her legs. Hermione links her arm through Narcissa’s when she reaches her.

Narcissa presses a kiss to her cheek and continues her path. Hermione sees the sparkling dark red mesh backing of her dress and the gold bands beneath. Hermione’s breathing quickens because she knows exactly what that means. Clothes are not just something to be worn to Narcissa. They are weapons to be utilized. They’re a statement. She remembers Harry and Ron’s words and flushes. 

She fancies Narcissa. She isn’t sure exactly when it happened but she can’t deny it any longer.

“You look beautiful.” Narcissa’s lips are close enough to her ear that she’s sure she would have felt them. They’re tucked in a corner, hands constantly brushing over the other. 

“Thank you.” She tucks a stray hair away from Narcissa’s face. Narcissa’s eyelids briefly flutter as if she wants to close them. “You’re gorgeous.”

“Mm.” Narcissa’s look is challenging. Hermione wants to ask. She wants to know why Narcissa chose to adorn Gryffindor colors of all things. She’s afraid to. She’s afraid of what the answer may be. Narcissa seemingly see this and breaks eye contact, giving Hermione a break from her intensity. “How’s work?”

The change of subject is sudden “Fine.” 

“I would like to take you someplace.”

“Where?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Do I need to take time off work?” 

“Yes but you could likely argue it’s for work.”

“Not if I don’t know what it is.”

“I’ll talk to your supervisor for you.” 

That sounds like a terrible idea. She can just see Narcissa leaving her boss’ office and leaving him a wreck. “Okay.” 

“You’ll love it, sweetie.” Narcissa lays another kiss on her cheek, this one closer to the corner of her lips, before leaving to mingle with guests. Narcissa always presses hard enough. Hard enough to be felt but never hard enough to hurt.

She throws herself between Harry and Ron when she gets home. They decided not to go for whatever reason. They both look unimpressed with her antics.

“Is that lipstick on your ear?” Harry asks, eyebrows practically in his hairline. She groans in response.

“Shagging.” Ron loudly whispers.

“I’m so gone on her.”

“Welcome to club crushing on people who don’t notice us.” Ron throws an arm over her and tugs her into a hug. 

“Draco noticed me.” 

“You were his mortal enemy. It’s close enough.” 

“He’s right.” Hermione backs Ron up. She feels Ron’s laughter rumble through his chest. 

“I’m supposed to be your favorite.” Harry mutters. She reaches back and tugs him into the hug as well. She closes her eyes and lets herself feel in this moment. 

She gets the time off and packs for a trip she knows nothing about. 

“Trust me.” Narcissa tugs her closer and they apparate. 

It’s beautiful. It’s glowing blues and purples. Housing built into abundant flora, creatures walking around. Hermione breaks out in an ecstatic smile. She’s never seen anything like it. 

“I thought you’d like it.” 

“I love it.” She tells Narcissa earnestly. 

“There’s something I must tell you, Hermione.”

“You can tell me anything.” 

“I’m quite in love with you. I am afraid you’ve robbed me of the ability to breathe. Without you, I’ve simply no oxygen left to fill my lungs.” Hermione finally, breathlessly, leans in to do something she’s wanted to for so long. 

“I think that’s the corset’s fault.” Narcissa gives her an unimpressed look and Hermione does her best to kiss it away.

It breaks not long after that.

How could it not?

They’ve always had an expiration date. They’ve always been doomed. Narcissa would have something pretty to say about it, some fragile lie they could hide behind. Hermione doesn’t have any more lies. All she has is her bare truth. 

No matter how much it hurts, truth finds its way. 

It happens because of a fight. It’s a blow for blow brutal fight. They both say terrible things, it’s a bloody trench fight. 

Then Narcissa caves and apologizes.

She holds Hermione close and desperate and she apologizes. 

That’s what finally does it. 

Narcissa would never apologize during a fight, she would never cave when Hermione is being an asshole.

Things start to click and she feels the waves of panic.

“Don’t think about it, darling.” Narcissa murmurs in her ear.

“No.” Hermione’s refusal is breathless, an awful whisper of prophecy.

“It’s okay, don’t think about it. Let it slide away again. Forget.” Again? How many times has she realized?

Their relationship was built in soft unstable soil but with enough care, it grew. It flourished and together they bloomed. They grew strong and entwined. Their petals resplendent and their love real and alive.

Unfortunately, flowers die and Hermione’s thumb has been blackened. 

They’re a decomposing thing. They have been for so long and Hermione didn’t see, couldn’t see. 

Narcissa’s hair smells like it always does. Hermione buries her face and seeks to run away. She can’t. The floral and alchemical scents make sense. They’re so medicinal. So much like a hospital.

Hermione always knew they were a walking tragedy. 

She ended up like the Longbottoms after all.

It makes so much sense it hurts. She can’t recall details. The battle, how they won, her day to day life, everything just blurs. All the inbetween has disappeared. 

She can’t feel because nothing is real. 

“If it’s all you have, isn’t it real?” She pulls back out of the embrace and looks at the phantom she loves. Her hand sinks through the phantom’s face when she thinks too hard about it.

“That’s why this can’t be real.” 

The room becomes murky as all the color bleeds away. She feels choked with fear as it all fades. What happens if she realizes it’s not real? Does she stop existing?

“Narcissa!”

_Bloody words. Mirrors and puddles. Scratching at the floor. Black skirts. The ocean._

_The lake. Fresh rolls and soft hands. A smile that slowly becomes more frequent. Cutting remarks soothed by heartfelt admissions._

_Narcissa._

Her eyes stick together. It’s like there’s glue holding her eyelids in place. It takes a few tries but she manages to break them open. Her vision is bleary but it’s not murky and Hermione blesses her luck. She feels the wool of the blanket underneath her hands.

She hasn’t felt texture in so long. 

It reeks of the wet herbal heat that wizarding establishments tend to smell like while also smelling like a muggle hospital. A mix of clinical and alchemical. 

It smells like something else too. 

She places it as she sees her. Jasmine. Jasmine and heart root.

Narcissa is sitting in a chair across the room, the morning sunlight peeking through the window and splashing across the pages of her book. She hasn’t noticed her yet. Her attention so consumed by the book that Hermione’s small movements have gone unnoticed. 

Hermione can tell just by looking at Narcissa that time has passed. It makes her terrified of how old she now is. Narcissa’s face has more lines, her blonde hair graced by a few grey hairs. Apparently Narcissa has chosen not to dye them or hide them, everything she wears serves a point. Is it a boast that she survived? An acknowledgement of everything she’s been through? Or is it that she sees what Hermione does? The way the grey and blonde collide in a cascade of bright beauty compliments the darker rich browns and greys.

She’s just as stunning as ever. Maybe that’s why her mind was able to interpret her. She knows none of it was real but it felt real at the time. She thinks it was because it’s what her mind could supply. Her mind couldn’t conceive travel so it cut it out, it couldn’t understand details it’s never seen or thought of. 

She’s thought a lot about Narcissa.

She’s thought and interacted enough with Narcissa to leave an imprint on her mind strong enough to overcome whatever warped coma she found herself in. How long had she found Narcissa attractive? She had to if her mind was so quick to supply it as a reality. How long had she desired her?

Will she ever know Narcissa’s love again or is the dream the closest she’ll get? 

Narcissa flips a page and breaks Hermione’s reverie.

“What’re you reading?” It takes several tries to get the question out. Her voice cracking and failing her before she could form the words.

Narcissa bodily jolts and gives her a wild look. “Hermione?”

“I bet it’s boring.” 

“Hermione! We need a mediwitch.” Narcissa stands, dropping her book and looks like a cheetah about to run.

“Wait.” She raises a hand but can’t raise it high. Narcissa still sees it.

“You need help.” Narcissa takes her hand and tears gather at the corners of Hermione’s eyes. It’s been so long since she could feel another person, since she actually felt Narcissa.

“I have help.” Narcissa looks torn between getting help and staying. Hermione offers her a weak smile and hopes it’s enough. She needs Narcissa here more than she needs a nurse. Whether it’s their connection throughout their meetings, the grounding during her torture, or the phantom love, Hermione needs Narcissa by her side right now. “You’re real.”

Narcissa’s eyebrows pivots down and she mulls her words over. “Did you…” She’s undoubtedly trying to find a proper way to ask her.

“I dreamt. Thought it was real.” She’s turns towards Narcissa like a flower to the sun, desperate to drink in attention.

“Were they good dreams?” 

“The best...but they were only dreams.”

“What did you dream about?”

“You.” Narcissa’s hand spasms in her own. A look of sorrow washing over her face. Hermione reaches towards her, bringing their joined hands to Narcissa’s face. “Not bad. The best.” 

She’s never seen that much heat in Narcissa’s eyes before. It’s a scalding look that lights pink across Hermione’s skin. “Tell me?” 

She debates over it. Narcissa looks interested to hear it, moreover, interested in what Hermione has hinted at. It’s incredibly revealing if she were to misunderstand Narcissa’s intentions. 

Her eyes wanders and she sees the jagged pale scars. That hadn’t been in her dream. She never could have thought up something so horrible. Narcissa’s lips seal over the scar, hiding most of it from Hermione’s view. It wrenches a gasp from Hermione. The cool press of Narcissa’s lips unravels the last bits of her hesitance.

She tells Narcissa about her dreams.

Narcissa tells her about reality.

She wound up in a catatonic state after the manor. She was taken to shell cottage and looked after by Fleur and Bill until the final battle. She was sent to Andromeda, the sister Hermione hasn’t officially met, while Fleur and Bill joined the fight. They won.

She was moved to St. Mungos to recover and named a war hero in her absence. 

“We couldn’t erase the scar I’m afraid. The blade was cursed.” 

Narcissa had helped care for her? She doesn’t know why it’s so surprising but it is. Surely she had better things to do after the war. “We?”

“Of course we, did you think I would let you squander?” The offense coloring Narcissa’s tone is a bloody beating thing. 

Narcissa apparently didn’t stop there. She was determined to bring Hermione back from her state. Everyone told her it was impossible but she didn’t listen to them. She determined the state to be a product of magic and psychology. The fact Narcissa apparently studied a muggle field sent off another round of amused disbelief and offense. 

“How’d you do it?”

“Honestly? I didn’t think I had. It’s been years.”

“Healing takes time.”

“You are right, of course. I wish I could have managed it sooner.”

“Don’t, you brought me back. There’s no room for regrets.”

She explained the process she’d attempted. Breaking the bond that established itself between Bellatrix and Hermione, soothing the unseen wounds caused by the cruciatus, memory altercation. Narcissa hesitates over the words, worried about Hermione’s reaction. It’s a controversial tactic but Hermione lets Narcissa explain.

“We, I, didn’t change your memories necessarily. I just tried deadening your recollection of the manor. I could erase all the magic in the world but so long as you could remember it would still cause you to shut down.”

Apparently St. Mungos wasn’t going to allow it but Harry and Ron threw their weight around. They believed Narcissa could bring her back. Maybe they just wanted to hope there was a chance. 

“It isn’t just the psychological devastation, magic is largely to blame for breakdowns following the cruciatus. It’s like it flips a switch in your brain, finding it was the key.” 

“Did you do this with the Longbottoms too?”

“Yes.” 

Hermione is insanely proud of Narcissa. No one has managed to recover trauma patients suffering the cruciatus until now. She can still make out the manor if she thinks hard enough about it. It’s like there’s a veil between it and her. She can pull it back and look if she wants to but it protects her from the unrelenting memory. She still hurts, she’s still scarred, but she can exist in her own mind. 

She continues living. She leaves St. Mungos after a tearful reunion with Harry and Ron. They tell her they live together and when she sees the particular closeness they regard each other with, she decides to stay with Narcissa instead. Narcissa had invited Hermione to stay with her the first day. 

The Longbottoms take longer to come out of it. The longevity of the state likely the primary reason. They do come out of it, just shy of a year past Hermione’s wakening. Hermione had been under for five years. She’s missed a lot.

Staying with Narcissa brings a sense of deja vu. It reminds her of recovery after the war in her dream. Except, it’s better.

“I find it interesting you call pure-blood traditions odd.” Narcissa’s fork scrapes at the plate. It’s one of the most uncomfortable dinners Hermione’s suffered to date. They’re both in fight mode and Draco has endured their fights for a week now.

“Excuse me if I think some things aren’t meant to be eaten.”

“Your muggles look up to Freud for Morgana’s sake. You can hardly judge pure-bloods.”

“Do I look like a psychology nut to you? Do I look like I’ve the vaguest interest in Freud? I can definitely judge. Maybe if you knew more about muggles other than psychology you could actually insult me.” 

Narcissa’s eyes narrow at her taunt. “Are you calling me uneducated?”

“About muggles? Absolutely.”

“You know nothing about pure-bloods. Don’t be so hypocritical.”

“Then I’ll read your damned books and learn.” 

“I suppose I’ll do the same.” 

“Is it over?” Draco whines from his seat, head hanging back at their antics.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“What!”

Finding Narcissa reading about muggles afterward is a weird sight but one Hermione becomes accustomed to. Seeing Harry teaching her how to use the internet just about gives her an aneurysm. Hermione keeps up her part of the deal. She has a bit of an advantage over Narcissa since she’s been embroiled in the Wizarding world for years whereas Narcissa has kept herself separate from muggles. 

Narcissa becomes fascinated by YouTube and Hermione feels like she’s in a constant state of peril. She regrets ever challenging the other woman. It’s going to be the death of her. 

They talk everyday, argue many of them, but there are things they never talk about. 

They don’t talk about how often Narcissa visited Hermione’s room, how much of her life she spent bringing her back. They definitely don’t talk about how most nights Hermione finds herself in Narcissa’s bed, unable to sleep without some contact. 

Sleeping terrifies her now, she’s afraid she won’t wake back up. They do talk about that, to great lengths. 

“I remember one time Minerva showed up to our Samhain ball.” Narcissa’s tired voice washes over her. Hermione had tried sleeping in her own bed and woken up to night terrors. Narcissa made room for Hermione when she slinked in during the middle of the night.

“How’d that go?” 

“Quite well.” Narcissa’s fingers tap on the sheets between them as she recalls the night. “We stood on opposite sides of the war at the time but I’ve always respected her.” 

“You could just say you like her.”

“Like her? I’m not a first year desperate for friends.”

Hermione flicks Narcissa’s hand. “I never told anyone I liked them.”

“You weren’t- I didn’t mean you, darling.” 

Hermione runs her fingers along Narcissa’s in a soothing gesture. She doesn’t remain, afraid of what that type of gesture could mean while laying together in bed. “Relax. Tell me more about your friends.”

“We were hardly friends.”

“Narcissa.” 

“Honestly, I despised many of my socialites.”

“Tell me about one you liked.” 

“There is one who I liked the best. I always looked forward to seeing her again. Unlike the others, she never bored me. She always challenged me and she never fawned over me.” 

“Don’t like a schmooze?”

“I despise a schmooze.” 

“Aren’t you a schmooze?”

“The very best.” Narcissa’s grin bounces the moonlight at Hermione. “I’ve never met someone like her. I feel like for years I moved on autopilot, just trying to gain favor for Voldemort and Lucius. The only time I felt alive was when I was with Draco.” Narcissa reaches out and links their fingers, breaking a barrier that’s settled for months. “And then with you.” 

Hermione forgets not to smile. She rolls over and groans into her pillow. “You are a schmooze.” She accuses Narcissa. 

Narcissa actually laughs. It’s throaty due to the late hour and Hermione is afraid of what it does to her heart. She turns her head to look at Narcissa and sees her broad delighted smile. “Are you surprised?” 

“I shouldn’t be.” She hesitates over her question, still wary of unspoken words. “Should I be jealous of McGonagall?” She’s glad her tone comes out teasing because her heart is racing. 

“Absolutely. The pointy hat is incredibly attractive.” Hermione laughs at the wrinkle of Narcissa’s nose. “There isn’t anyone you should be jealous of.” 

With the late night confessions some barriers come down. There’s an established something between them. Hermione takes it day by day, not pushing or asking for more. She enjoys the little developments in life. 

Hermione touches her more now, it becomes necessary for her. Before, it was always Narcissa reaching out to her. Now, Hermione’s always reaching to her. Narcissa’s always there, arms open with a pleased smile. 

She applied to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures just as she had in her dream. At least she has the evidence to back it up as her dream job. She wants to abolish the terrible name and all that words like ‘control’ entail. The fact the ministry barely even hides their discrimination angers Hermione.

She’s considering just how to tear it apart and rebuild it better when Narcissa makes a proposal. 

Hermione’s cooking a stir fry in a kitchen that’s rarely seen cooking. The record spins and the music crackles along with the food. Pops of browning chicken and old jazz keep her moving. She’s dancing in place as she stirs the food. 

“Smells good.” Narcissa leans against the counter next to her. 

“Thanks, I’m making enough for the both of us.” Hermione grabs a snap pea and offers it to Narcissa. She eats it and smiles, tilting her head and nodding her approval. 

“I want to go someplace.”

“Looking to make all my dreams come true?” 

“Absolutely.” Narcissa purrs, hand wrapping around her waist. 

“Where are we going?”

“Someplace magical.” Narcissa kisses her temple and tugs her hand. She turns off the stove and drags Hermione away. She pulls Hermione into her and Hermione tosses her arms over Narcissa’s shoulders. “I love your music.” 

“It’s terrible.” Draco interrupts, Narcissa and Hermione break apart. “No need to do that.” Draco waves his hand at them.

“You don’t like jazz?” Narcissa asks him, moving to plate the stir fry.

“It sounds like a group of people who can’t play instruments tricked people into thinking they could.”

“Guess your mom just has better taste.” Draco nose crinkles with disgust.

“Don’t tease him.” Narcissa admonishes but she hides an amused smile. 

“What music do you like?” Draco isn’t on the same obsessive muggle consumption binge that Narcissa is. Primarily because he doesn’t have a vendetta like her but he does listen to music with them.

“David Bowie.” Hermione laughs.

“Of course.”

“What’s that mean!”

Narcissa doesn’t give her anymore hints to where she’s taking her. Hermione assumes it’ll be something with magical creatures. 

Narcissa looks oddly nervous as she waits for Hermione to take her arm.

“I’m going to love it.” Narcissa smiles with a soft pop, they’re away. 

It’s not the bright colors that blinded her to reality like last time. It dark, darker than she expected. There’s a faint yellow glow to the air. It smells like deep earth and they’re surrounded by rocks. The ground rumbles beneath their feet.

They’re huge. Some are part of the walls, if they’re even walls at all, and others walk freely. Giant beings made of clay, sand, and stone. Some look their way and others pay no mind.

“I remember when you were talking about Kabbalah and I thought…”

“You brought me to see golem.”

“Technically golems, plural. The golems here broke free from their masters and started their own community. They let some people visit.”

“Including you?”

“Of course. I hope this is adequate.”

“It’s amazing.” She hugs Narcissa close to her. 

The scraping sound of the rocks and sliding sound of sand vibrates into its own song. They move together at the same time. She keeps her face tucked into Narcissa’s shoulder as they sway. They get their dance, no interruptions.

This time she feels their first kiss. The slide of their lips, the slight tackiness of Narcissa’s lipstick, the silkiness of her hair as Hermione slides her fingers into it.

She forgot the most important things about flowers.

They always come back.


End file.
